


One More Meeting

by muldertxf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Season 11, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muldertxf/pseuds/muldertxf
Summary: She should not be surprised, and yet here she was, eyes wide, and red-cheeked. Takes place some time after "Ghouli" and it's kind of a small lead up to the last episode, "My Struggle IV."





	One More Meeting

Of all the places, she had never expected to find him in Jersey.

Small digits outstretched, the creak of spent bones and apprehension sounding at half-mast. The very tip of a lunula jingled on a dull, brass handle. It drew electricity and jolted her with an icy zap. She exhaled. Her shoulders relaxed with the backing of a distant rumble of thunder, and finally, she let her entire hand rest on the doorknob. Silver breath plumed from her lips. Her hand was placed on iced metal and she wore a forced lax in her shoulders. A hollow prayer dangled unsaid.

Nothing made much sense to Scully. Killer robots had caused her formerly sleek home to erupt in angry flames. Burnt to its stem, she then fled the scuzzy heap like a bird without a nest, only the slightest potential of closure on her beak as sustenance.

Her egg-yellow Pacer only got her so far, and in the end, she had made the decision to abandon it a few roads back. It was cheap, and it had provided just as anticipated; no more, no less. It was the best the shop could offer for $50, the rental business said. She had let it putter to the side of the road under a lurching sycamore. Tumbled three quarters in the machine. Left. She imagined the tiny patter of sleet on its cracked hood. She would come back for it. Probably. A tear slid down her cheek.

She always returned.

Scully’s grip on the doorknob tightened, and she fought for composure. The world behind that door should be inviting, and yet her fingertips tingled numb with cold fear. Her brows furrowed in frustration, and the wind kicked it up a notch as if it were in tune with her internal workings. Another shake of the head, and Scully braced herself. _She must do this_. But before she could commit to the action, the door flew open.

Scully gasped, her hand locked to the spot where the handle had ripped from her now empty fist. She sensed him coming to the door. She should not be surprised, and yet here she was, eyes wide, and red-cheeked.

The boy unclenched his jaw before reaching forward to take her hovering hand. A wobbly smile met his lips. His palm was warm. She looked up at him, and he radiated something that tugged at her heart. _Tall_.

Their son was so much taller than her. Than Mulder, even.

“ _Hey_ ,” she rasped.

He looked away meekly, dark strips of bangs falling over his eyes from the movement. The frayed ends told her he’d cut it himself. Scully didn’t know whether to cry or laugh, so she simply smiled tearfully. The two stood there for what felt like several minutes, until a spark of lightning flashed behind her.

He ushered her in, a bit hesitantly. The door clicked shut, sealing them both in a scorching envelope. The heat was seemingly cranked up.

“They went out for the evening and think I’m their repairman,” Jackson said with some humor to test the waters and kicking back on the couch. “I stalled the real one a couple blocks away with engine trouble.” He didn’t offer an explanation as to how that were possible, so she didn’t push it.

The floor was carpeted a tacky orange, and Scully’s heels almost got caught on a tar-black rug that divided the two opposing couches facing one-another. Jackson took the couch that sat propped up near the hallway. Scully sat across from him on the one nearest the door.

He blinked at her.

“You got my message.”

She nodded, biting her lip to prevent further tears. “Yes.”

“We can’t talk long, but…” Jackson trailed off. He started up again, this time staring straight into Scully. He bit his lip. “I just wanted to see you. And I’m sorry it hurts when I try to send something, uh, Scully, but it’s the only way.”

It felt weird to have her own child address her in such a formal manner, but she gulped down the bitterness with the happy. She was just so relieved. He was alive. He was _here_.

“Well, beats e-mailing, doesn’t it?” she joked with a little smirk.

“It’s safer, yeah,” He offered. The silence was comfortable, he almost didn’t want to break it. If Jackson could, he would have liked to keep observing her safely from a distance. See what happened to make her lose 5 inches worth of hair. What case she and that man were working on. She was always with him. Jackson knew who the man was but did not know whether that was okay to quiz her on or not.

“Can you send messages to just me? Is it just us that shares this…connection?” Scully asked, her coat now bunching at her elbows. She must have shrugged it off while he was too busy arguing with himself.

Jackson opened his mouth. Then closed it, unsure. His pale palms opened in his lap. They were clammy, despite the broken thermostat. He searched her features for any judgement and was unable to scavenge any. Her strawberry hair hung mostly pin straight, curling in only just below her chin. Laugh lines framed her petite features and a light dusting of freckles fell across her nose. The closer he prodded, the more he found. She was like a beautiful sun-colored painting.

This woman, she was his mom. The red-head he’d been having visions about. The woman who would surely be in the center of it all when the axis hits right and the apocalypse takes aim. Scully was short, confident, stunning, and breathtakingly smart. Any lingering jets of anger, fury, and betrayal he had all felt previously toward her had been put out at that moment. His mom couldn’t see it to think of him as a monster at all.

Another crash of thunder bounced outside. He took a moment to ball his fist and let go, exhaling. Somewhere, the actual repairman, an average-sized burly man in his mid-thirties, grew more frustrated. Jackson saw the man’s truck cough to a miserable stop on some empty, rain-slicked street. The real repairman dashed his cap against the dashboard in frustration and swiped a hand over his face. Jackson had bought them some more time, but not enough. He unfurled his fist and rested it on the sofa. Exhaled in exhaustion.

“I can transmit to Mulder, too,” Jackson admitted. “It’s harder, but doable. I don’t…I don’t feel as confident with him, though.” He saw a small waver of sadness flicker through her features. He quickly worked to amend it. “I think it’s easier with you because I spent more time with you than him.”

A steady patter of rain slapped the outside of the window pane behind her, the sky darkening two shades with a pitiful purple.

“Yeah, you did,” Scully quietly replied.

“I remember some of it.”

Scully’s head swung forward in curiosity, her shiny bob waving forward, then back in place, pretty and pristine. “You do?”

Jackson felt a pang of regret nip him deep in his abdomen. These things scared him. Sometimes he forgot what was normal and what wasn’t. A lush, photographic memory was not. He shook his head.

“Ah…I do, but. Look, we don’t have a lot of time here. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you okay?”

Scully nodded feverishly, standing up with him. The sky strobed twice through the window, bleaching them white for half a second, reminding them both of something unpleasant. Celestial. Space craft were bright.

They inched near the door, Jackson slipping out with her, one hand on her upper arm. The gesture reminded her of Mulder, and she tasted copper on her lip. Bitter rain streamed freely with the salt down her cheeks.

He let go.

“This isn’t the end,” Jackson reassured her against the battering wind, “You’ll see me again in a few weeks. I won’t be dead. Stay with Mulder. _He needs you_.”

Scully was speechless, unable to move. He began to jog away from her, to the side of the house and off the stoop. The wind whirred around her dizzily. She prayed for the sky to break, for another miracle. She yelled his name. His head whipped around, just as he was about to hop over a fence. A murky face in the rain.

“Stay safe!” Scully pleaded against the unwavering elements.

Jackson turned toward the fence, then stared at her once more, his shoulders becoming unhunched. He was searching her again, taking a mental picture. He nodded, surely.

A fat tree limb snapped with the distinct rattle of gunfire, and Scully jumped to face it. It rustled noisily on the cement, leaves polished shiny by the storm. Her heartbeat slowed, and she fumbled for her cross necklace beneath her coat. Her hand hugged the gold, and she quickly looked back to the fence.

She wasn’t crying anymore.


End file.
